Paranoia (Zayn Malik) (editing)

Chapter 46: Electric

'Oh,' the word slips past my lips as I spot Zayn at the bottom of the staircase.

He looks up at me, his shaved head and brown eyes feeling unfamiliar in the dim space between us.

'Luna.' He doesn't say it like he normally does, it isn't inviting and warm, it's cautious 'I didn't think you'd be up, it's late.'

'I can't sleep.' I admit, I always hate admitting when I can't sleep. It feels like I'm stripped naked stood in a glass box for the world to ogle at 'Where have you been?'

'I had some stuff to sort out in the weapon district, we're trying to finalise the individual soldier inventory, to present to you tomorrow morning.' He explains, fiddling with his rings as he looks up to me 'You're not sleeping again?'

I chew on my lip, choosing not to respond. He doesn't let it go, he starts up the steps.

'Doll, is this the first night it's been happening again?'

I refrain from reaching out to him as he gets closer.

'It's been on and off, since last week.'

This halts the progressing warmth between us. We have been spending minimal time together since the combat pit ceremony and I can see the flash of guilt in his eyes. We are far too familiar with each other to pretend that Zayn's violent display has not shifted our dynamic at all.

'I'm sorry.' He whispers.

'No.' I shake my head, and now he's reached the landing I'm stood on, I grip his arm, desperate to prove nothing has changed between us 'It's not you.'

'I'm sorry I've been spending nights away, I'm trying to prove myself to the people here, working overtime to secure everything properly after I left for so long.' He takes my hand in his 'I'm stressed, but I should still be here with you.'

'You're here now.' I sink into his arms, his lips rehearse their affections once more, kissing my jaw, my cheek then my lips.

'Do you think I'm bad?' His question surprises me, not because we haven't spoken about it before, but because he has always been so sure of himself, his position. He's never needed my opinion on the matter before.

Flashes of the combat pit come to me, the way everyone treated Zayn like a weapon.

'No.' I answer quickly, certainly 'I think you are powerful, I think you've used that power for bad, but I don't think you enjoy it.'

He holds me tighter.

'I think you are soft. I think you are softer than anyone thinks, even me.'

The warmth has returned, burning between us. We are one again as he takes my hand and leads me into our bedroom. We are one as we get naked, because our bodies melt for each other. We are one as he kisses me, as his tongue swipes across my jaw, across my nipples, my stomach, my thighs.

He pours into me. A rough sweetness. Bites of love on my neck and shoulders. His cool limbs not halting our heat, our warmth. We are one again.

*
I sleep with a dim lamp on most nights. It glows warmly in the corner of the room, situated on the coffee table between the two white padded seats next to the vinyl player. It has intricate patterns woven into the white sheets that cover the bulb buzzing at the core of the lamp. I like focusing on the way the warmth from its light bleeds into the darkness of the room. I like to imagine something similar happening inside of me. Each thud of my heart spreading warmth that melts the rot wrapped around my veins.

I only notice the lamp go out because I can't sleep. Zayn is in some kind of deep rest, one that feels foreign to me. I examine him too. He doesn't even breathe as he does this - something reminiscent of sleep - but I think it's closer to death. I think I'm jealous of him. I feel the rotting spread as I lust after the idea of temporarily dying, I get so lost in it that I nearly forget about the lamp.

If I were home, really home, I would assume the bulb died, or maybe the socket is dodgy, it could potentially even be an electrical shortage - a power cut. But I am not home, and if I have learnt anything living with occults, it's that nothing is an accident.

I nudge Zayn, he jolts back alive, eyes clear and alert.

'Doll?' He sits up 'You ok?'

'The lamp turned off.' I whisper.

I expect some sort of expression of exasperation, something that highlights his irritation to be resurrected over something so small. Instead he looks over to the lamp, seeing through the dark better than I ever could. He frowns.

'It's probably nothing.' I tuck my legs into my chest with my back pressed to the headboard, trying to make myself smaller.

'You never know.' He shrugs, standing and making his way over to the main light switch.

He flips it on, and my eyes are trained on the overhead light fixture as it remains off. In the dark, I can make out the way his brows knit closer.

'Power cut.' He states dryly 'Strange.'

'Strange?' I repeat.

He hear something I don't, his neck snaps in the direction of the door, he has the same look in his eyes as a dog that hears a squirrel snap a twig. This changes his mood.

This time I hear it too, a footstep. The creak of a wooden floorboard.

Zayn quickly drops to his knees, reaching under the bed until he reaches a metal safe box. He uses his fingerprint to unlock it, retrieving two guns that I've seen many times. One is usually always strapped to his belt. The other is strapped to mine. They're our specially altered brain issued guns as apart of the army. He hands me mine and gestures for me to get up.

I've received some training on what to do in an attack, and for once, I feel relatively prepared. I run through the protocols in my head. There isn't enough time to get to anti-occult room on the other side of the house, and I have no clue where this person is, so that route is written off. My heart beats too loudly to hide successfully anywhere else, so my best option is to stick by Zayn. I hold the gun like they taught me, taking the safety off.

He opens the door and before I can see what is behind it, he fires a shot. The shock and loud release of the bullet deafen me. I drop to my knees to hold my ears as they ring, expecting blood to trickle from my eardrums but thankfully not finding any.

I am left disoriented on the floor while Zayn progresses further. I roll onto my back and whine like an injured dog, after what feels like days, but is probably only minutes, fragments of sound penetrate the incessant ringing. Raised voices, half sentences.

"The fuck... wrong with... did you really...try... shoot me?" Is all I can catch of the unknown voice.

I roll to my side to locate Zayn, stumbling back, face froze as he states forward at a woman in the doorway. He stumbles back.

"What..." he breathes.

The woman steps closer, just in time for the light in the corner to switch back on. Now bathed in its glow, I can make out the woman's features.

Sleek black hair without a strand out of place flows down her shoulders, ending around her waist. Her gilded brown eyes are lined with a black kohl, matching a dark brown painted on to her bow shaped lips. Her face is unbelievably symmetrical in a way I've only seen n a select number of people.

I manage to clamber to my feet, heaving breaths heavily to try and stabilise myself.

"Zayn..." I groan with the little voice I can muster "Who... is it?"

Her eyes lock on me now, and I'm sure she's asking the same question of me in her head.

Zayn swallows hard, eyes not leaving the tall woman stood in front of us, long limbs covered in flawless tawny skin.

"My sister." He chokes out.